Pushing The Limits
by CarcinogenRush
Summary: Hermione, Harry, and Ron are at Malfoy's Manor, and it's all of their nightmares come true. Torture, Voldemort, and enemies clashing. But what happens when Malfoy starts to blur those lines? [Non-DH-compliant, eventual HGxDM]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** **I obviously don't own rights to HP, but I took a lot of dialogue straight from the book, for this first chapter. From the end of this chapter and on, this story will not be DH-compliant, except for occasionally. This is just an idea that's been in my head for a while, with no real direction one way or another, so enjoy as it comes, and let the chips fall where they may! Also, as a sidenote, I've always been attached to the idea of a softer Malfoy when the spotlight isn't on him, so he will, at times, be out-of-character. Also, this chapter is sort of short, but they will definitely be getting longer. Hey, it's the pilot chapter, what did you expect? Enjoy!**

It starts with three people being dragged into the drawing room, hands tied behind their backs. Instantly, I recognize the mop of ginger hair and the somewhat-tamed, but still out-of-control bushy brown hair. The third, I know by context clues alone; his face is swollen and marred by what can only be a stinging jinx. His company is what gives him away. _Potter_.

"Draco, come here," my mother commands me. I rise slowly from the chair tucked into the corner, stomach dropping. Greyback pushes Potter toward me, and I can see one distinguishable eye within the swollen splotches on his face.

"Well, boy?" Greyback asks. I eye his pink, swollen face and greasy long hair with distaste. Potter does not meet my eyes.

"Well, Draco?" my father asks. "Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't-I can't be sure," I lie. I avoid looking at him more than I have to; I cannot say why I have not given up his identity, but I cannot bring myself to do so. From his side, I hear Weasley panting and Granger whimpering.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" my father urges me, unable to mask his giddy excitement. I know what he is thinking-Potter is the key to our name regaining its good standing. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-,"

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback asks. His voice sends shivers down my spine.

"Of course not, of course not!" father says, waving a hand in annoyance. "What did you do to him?" he asks Greyback as he scrutinizes Potter's face. "How did he get into this state?"

"That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," father agrees. His eyes land on Potter's forehead, and widen. "There's something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

Reluctantly, I draw closer, coming to stand beside my father. In the mirror behind Potter's head, I see the two of us, carbon copies. The only difference is, my father is rabid with excitement, and I wish to disappear into the floorboards.

"I don't know," I say again, leaving my father's side and going to stand by my mother.

"We had better be certain, Lucius," my mother tells him. "Completely sure that this is Potter before we summon the Dark Lord." She holds a wand in her hand, eyeing it as she speaks. "They say this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. If we are mistaken…if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?" she asks, reminding us of the torture to which the two men were subjected. This house has seen some horrors in its time.

"What about the Mudblood then?" Greyback asks. He eyes Granger with an appraising eye as light washes over her terrified face.

"Wait," mother says, "Yes-yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I…maybe…yeah," I mumble, unwilling to give them away. Her hazel eyes are more wide and frightened than I've ever seen.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" father shouts, quickly crossing over to Weasley. "It's them, Potter's friends. Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"

"Yeah," I repeat, turning away from them. "It could be." Of course it is, father, look at them. They're more disgusting and defeated than I've ever seen them, but the Golden Trio of Hogwarts stands in my manor nonetheless, all at the mercy of Death Eaters. I would laugh, if I wasn't so terrified.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" a soft voice calls out. My heart begins to thrum violently at the arrival of my aunt. The arrival of Aunt Bellatrix never bodes well for anyone, Death Eater or not. She stops dead, staring at Granger, and her eyes glint. "But surely this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" father exclaims, equal parts exasperated and excited. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

"Potter?" she shrieks, backing up. She examines him slowly and carefully. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!" She pulls back her left sleeve, and the Dark Mark stands out like a beacon of darkness against her pale skin. She raises a hand, ready to summon _him_ , and I tense up. I have seen more of the Dark Lord in the past year than I have ever wanted, and part of me wants Potter dead just so that I can get back to my normal life. Of course, with Potter dead, I'll never be away from the Death Eater life. Trapped, no matter what.

"I was about to call him!" father snaps, grabbing hold on Aunt Bellatrix's arm. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority-"

"Your authority!" she laughs, trying to pull out of father's grip. It's futile, Aunt Bella, believe me. Been there, done that. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off of me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-,"

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," Greyback interrupts, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold-,"

"Gold!" Aunt Bella spits, laughing as she continues to try to pull out of my father's hold. She reaches into her pockets, looking for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his-of…" She stops moving suddenly, staring off at something. I follow her gaze, and then look back at my father, who is preparing to summon the Dark Lord. "STOP!" Aunt Bella screams. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Father pauses, hand extended over his mark, as Aunt Bella approaches a Snatcher. The air is tense and heavy as we watch.

"What is that?" she asks.

"Sword," grunts the Snatcher.

"Give it to me," she commands him.

"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon. I found it." Instantly, with a loud bang and a red flash, the Snatcher lays Stunned on the ground. Scabior draws his wand with an angry yell.

"What do you think you're playing at, woman?"

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" she screams, cursing four Snatchers in an instant. Only Greyback remains conscious, kneeling with his hands up in a mercy position. Aunt Bella strides over to him, gripping a sword tightly. Rubies glint from within the metal. "Where did you get this sword?" she demands, ripping his wand from his hands.

"How dare you? Release me, woman!"

"Where did you find this sword?" she yells, brandishing the sword around his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent!" Greyback says hoarsely. "Release me, I say!" Absently, Aunt Bella waves her want and Greyback scrambles backward, clutching tightly to the back of an armchair.

"Draco, move this scum outside," Aunt Bella commands me, motioning to the unconscious Snatchers. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." I grit my teeth. _Bitch_.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-," my mother begins. She is cut off by a furious scream from Aunt Bella.

"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!" She looks particularly insane as she stands, wand in one hand, sword in the other, panting. She stares first at the sword, and then at the trio. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed." She speaks so quietly, I cannot tell if we are the intended audience or not. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…but if he finds out…I must…I must know…" She whips around to face my mother again, glaring at me. I shake my head, levitate the Snatchers, and guide them outside.

I walk slowly, unwilling to rejoin that nightmare inside. Even when I am in my own home, the Golden Trio manages to meddle in my life and turn it upside down. I doubt if I'll ever have a moment's peace again. I glance over my shoulder, and then hide the four bodies in between a tall row of bushes. They can be somebody else's issue; I'm not in the business of murder. With a sigh, I head back into the drawing room. I enter, and then stop in the doorway. Potter and Weasley are gone, but Granger is still there. She stares at me, terror in her eyes, as Aunt Bella stalks around her in circles, her small, coveted dagger in hand. Mother motions for me to join her, and I quickly walk to the fireplace where she stands, watching her sister.

"What is she doing?" I whisper, trying not to move my lips.

"It would seem the Mudblood stole from her vault," mother responds.

"Of course she would, not like muggles have anything worth value," father sneers. "Maybe she thought she could establish herself as a witch if she had something to set her apart." My brow furrows as they speak. Granger is no angel, but she wouldn't steal from another witches' vault, no matter what it was. Would she? I am shaken from my thoughts as Aunt Bella sends Granger to the floor, sprawled on her back. Aunt Bella climbs on top of her, straddling her body, and extends her right arm straight out. Before I can look away, the tip of the dagger meets Granger's skin, and she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

"I'll teach you to steal from me, you filthy Mudblood!" Aunt Bella howls as she carves into Granger. Their screams mingle together and echo off of the beams in the ceiling. Panting, Aunt Bella draws her wand, dagger cast aside. "What else did you take, what else? CRUCIO!" Granger writhes on the floor, and I am almost positive her screams are going to kill her. I step forward to stop my aunt, and my mother takes hold of my arm.

"No, Draco," she says softly. "This is the price that must be paid."

"But…" I begin weakly. At the hardened look on my mother's face, I fall silent, and stare at the scuffed tips of my shoes. Three more times, she curses Granger.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?" Aunt Bella screams.

"We only met him tonight!" Granger gasps through sobs. "We've never been inside your vault. It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" It is difficult to hear Granger speaking, so broken down and lacking all of her usual annoying confidence.

"A copy?" Aunt Bella screeches. "Oh, a likely story!"

"But we can find out easily!" father advises. "Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!" I make a face but drag myself past Granger and down the cellar stairs.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything or I'll-I'll kill you!" I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I do not feel the conviction in myself. For whatever reason, seeing the trio here has shaken me more than most of the things I've seen happen in my home. However, they must believe me, because the door opens and I am able to retrieve the goblin-Griphook?-without issue. I take him by the arm and we march back up and into the drawing room. By the time we return, Aunt Bella has begun her torture again, and Granger is howling on the floor, tears pouring down her face. Standing again, Aunt Bella says,

"Well? Is this the true sword?" Griphook takes the sword and examines it closely. We are all holding our breath, waiting for his answer. Finally, he hands it back to her.

"No," the goblin says, "It is a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes," he asserts. Aunt Bella sighs with relief and then flicks her wand. Immediately, Griphook falls, clutching a gash in his cheek. She kicks him aside and says,

"And now, we call the Dark Lord!" She grabs hold of her Dark Mark, and all around the room, we grab our arms as they burn. I let out a low hiss of pain. I doubt if I'll ever get used to the feeling of acid on my skin. "And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her." My head snaps up, and I glance at Aunt Bella, horrified. Greyback is known for insatiable hungers of all kinds, and it is a miserly way to end. He approaches her hungrily, a grin on his filthy face. I know exactly what he intends to do, and I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. She tries to fight as he draws nearer, but cannot beyond a cracked whisper.

"No," she says, turning her head. Her eyes lock with mine, and there is a desperation there that I've never seen before. "Please," she whispers, and I know it is meant for me. At that moment, Weasley and Potter burst through the door, and spells begin to ricochet. In the chaos, I stun Greyback, grab Granger and pull her away. Potter and I meet eyes for just long enough that I am able to jerk my head in the direction I am going. Potter nods, and I know he understands to find me. I must be losing my mind.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Aunt Bella screeches, casting a spell as she glances my way.

"I-I wanted a turn first!" I shout back, nodding at Granger. "You know, retribution for our time at Hogwarts!" It sounds ridiculous as I speak, but Aunt Bella's face breaks into a grin.

"You'll make a Death Eater yet, boy!" she cackles. I feel ill at her joy. "Go, now!" Without another word, I hoist Granger's limp body and run, through a hidden room and down a long hallway. After a moment, it is silent, except for the ringing in my ears and the whimpering from Granger. I wave my wand silently and the wall separates to let us into a hidden portion of the home.

"Come on, Granger," I say, resting her on a couch. "You have to get up." She does not move, and I survey her. As her arm drops over the edge of the couch, I catch sight of my aunt's work: MUDBLOOD, carved into her skin and dripping ruby red. Despite the times I have called Granger that same name, this feels different, more vicious. I swallow hard and look away. At the sound of a pounding fist against a window, I whirl around to see Potter and Weasley, eyes wild with fear and fury. I open the window to allow them in and immediately, they begin screaming.

"YOUR BLOODY FAMILY-,"

"HOW DARE YOU-,"

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM-,"

"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HERMIONE-,"

"-KILL YOU, MALFOY!"

They both pause, chests heaving as they glare at me. I eye them coldly.

"Are you finished?" I ask in a bored drawl. "I mean, continue on if you want to, but if _I_ were you, I'd focus on the bigger issues, like the fact that your number one pal is on his way to kill you and torture your mu-,"

"-watch it-," Weasley growls.

"-ggleborn princess," I finish, ignoring the interruption. Potter grits his teeth, and I can see him fighting the urge to continue shouting. Instead, he looks past me, over to the couch where Granger is still motionless.

"He's right, Harry," Ron says, "as much as I hate to say it. The ferret's right. If we don't get out now-,"

"We won't get out at all," Harry finishes. "Do you have the bag?" Weasley holds up a beaded bag, nodding. It seems entirely unexceptional, and I am curious about it in spite of myself.

"Nice purse, Weasel," I sneer. "Do you have the dress to go with it?"

"Piss off, ferret," Ron snaps. His face softens as he looks at Granger. "We've gotta get going," he says.

"Malfoy, how do we get out of here?" Potter asks me.

"There are anti-apparation wards up," I tell him. "You know, to keep the riff-raff at bay. Of course, when they're specifically brought here…"

"Malfoy," Potter growls warningly. I roll my eyes.

"Out the window you came, through the courtyard. Take the fourth aisle of rosebushes, it'll lead you straight to an old gate that has no guard. It's your only chance out of here. I'd grab the girl and run. Not that I wouldn't mind if you stuck around to face your buddy, it might make things more interesting."

"Yeah, I'm sure it gets really boring around here, with only torturing prisoners to watch," Weasley says angrily. "Bloody git," he adds in a mutter.

"Get out of here before I change my mind," I snap back. Weasley pushes past me to grab Granger, and then jerks his head at me.

"C'mon, Harry," he says. Potter starts to leave, and then comes back over to me.

"Why'd you do it?" he asks me. "Not rat us out, I mean."

"Don't go all soft on me, Potter," I say with an eyeroll, "I was saving my own ass as much as yours. Now get out, I'm not telling you again." Without another word, they leave silently, and I'm left alone in the room. I go back out to rejoin the rest of the Death Eaters in the drawing room. The screams of rage meet my ears before I enter the room, and my heart stops. He's here, and he's angry. I enter silently, surveying the kneeling followers whom he has just tortured, and he rounds on me, scarlet eyes burning.

"And the young Mr. Malfoy returns!" he greets coldly. "Running away?"

"Discarding the Mudblood, my lord," I whisper. "Granger is dead." I feel him trying to get into my mind, and I think only of her motionless body, and the bushes where I dumped the other four. He breaks into a grin and begins to laugh. The laughs echo off of the walls, and fill my head until it's all I can hear.

I lay on my back, arms behind my head, and stare at the green canopy draping above my bed. Over and over again, the day plays in my head. The chaos, the adrenaline, the screams from Granger...the terror in her eyes, the way she pleaded with me. And, of course, the Machismo Twins, bursting in like heroes.

" _Why'd you do it?"_

I don't know, Potter. Why do you have to question everything? Don't you think I've been asking myself that same question? Why did I defy my family to their faces? Why did I lie straight to the one man who can destroy us, destroy everything? And for a mudblooded girl who has been a constant thorn in my side for 7 years? With an irritated huff, I flop onto my side, and stare bitterly at the wall. Only when I hear a tapping at my window do I move from my position. I find a small, puffy owl flapping its wings wildly to stay aloft. A tiny scrap of paper is tied to its leg. I grab the bird and pull it inside quickly before it can be seen, and untie the grimy parchment.

" _12 Grimmauld. If you change your mind. HHR."_ The moment I've read it, it alights and burns into ash.

It would appear that Potter is extending an olive branch. I snort humorlessly and put my candles out. The room is engulfed in darkness, and I lay motionless on my bed once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter. Also, I'm aware that this chapter is shorter, but I want to lay some foundation. From here on out, they should be getting longer. Stick with it, and thanks for reading! :)**

As it turns out, sleep doesn't come easily to you when your house has been turned into Death Eater Central. I cannot remember the last time I have gotten a full night's sleep; my best guess is some time toward the beginning of fourth year, before that damn Quidditch World Cup incident. After that Dark Mark was sent into the sky, I knew that was going to be the end of my life as I knew it, and I was right. There has not been a peaceful moment since; or, as peaceful as the Malfoys can possibly be. "Peaceful" isn't quite the moniker I'd attach to my family. "Chaotic," "dysfunctional," or "together out of a sense of duty," might fit better. This is, of course, not the face we show in public. To anyone on the outside looking in, we are a tightly-knit family. Cold, aloof, or haughty even, but a solid group of pureblooded heirs. When you're a pureblood, all of those negative descriptors tend to melt away. Except…

Except there was nothing dirty about Granger's blood as it dripped down her arm. The pool of blood that gathered from my aunt's knife work was a red as my own blood. With annoyance, I rise from my bed, and over to my window. Judging by the deep indigo of the sky, it is late in the night. A glance at the clock on my wall confirms the hour, half past two. I grit my teeth and lean on my desk, staring down into the gardens. There is no motion outside, except for the guards stationed every twenty yards of the perimeter. Whether they're keeping us in, or intruders out, I can't say. In fact, I cannot even remember the last time I left my estate. Since returning home at the end of sixth year, I have not been out. Seven months. I've been a prisoner in my own home for seven months.

Seven months of torture, of deaths, of planning with the Dark Lord. Seven months of sharing my space with Death Eaters who hit and punish the house-elves for sport-and when that loses its fun, each other. Seven months of Aunt Bellatrix's rabid devotion to all things Dark Lord, all things anti-muggleborn. I have never seen anyone follow someone else around as blindly as she does, and I've grown up with the Golden Trio as a reference. Aunt Bellatrix and the Dark Lord make the bloody trio look as if they are completely independent from one another instead of pathetically co-dependent. I've seen the way Weasley pines after Granger, the way Potter makes it out of situations by the skin of his teeth because of his pals, the way that Granger seeks validation in the Machismo Twins, and it still cannot hold a candle to my aunt tripping over herself to please the Dark Lord. Frankly, whether she admits it or not, Aunt Bellatrix is in love with him. What a waste of time and emotion.

Absently, I touch the burn in my desk from Potter's note. 12 Grimmauld. I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, and am certain that Potter is having a go at me. We aren't friends. We're barely cold acquaintances. We have no reason to trust each other, and no reason to help each other. I roll my eyes and turn my back to the window. Perhaps, if I will myself to sleep, it will work. I'll ask Snape for a Dreamless Sleep Draught over my dead body.

* * *

From where my window looks out, I have a clear view of our courtyard where my father's white peacocks strut, the rose gardens that twist into a labyrinth, and the wall surrounding the perimeter of my home. More importantly, I have a view of what lays beyond that wall, where there is a constant guard in place. No one may enter or leave without express permission, and the correct words to clear the wards safely. Apparation cannot best it, and you'd be a fool to try. I spend most of my days in the window seat, staring across this invisible-and not-so-invisible-border between me and the rest of the world. I know there are ways to clear it, if only I can go unnoticed for a period of time. Of course, this is not the case. While I'm in my home, there is no need to guard me. But none of us, mother, father, nor I, may go outside alone. We have all failed the Dark Lord in some manner: my father, arrested, my mother, soft-hearted, and myself, a failure. We are considered dangers to the Dark Movement, and no risks may be taken.

So instead, I lock myself away, like some sort of damsel in distress, awaiting her white horse. Except, it's only ever a peacock-useless, and vain, much like my family. Now, of course, I have the added burden of wondering over Potter's brief and confusing note. Despite my misgivings with the Boy Wonder and his merry band of morons, I cannot help but think that he is earnest in his note. An attempt at noble valiance, ever the Gryffindor. It does not help that I made myself weak in front of them, allowed them an out in my own home. To turn them in would have meant certain forgiveness for our pasts. If I am found out, there will be no forgiveness. There will only be death. My blood runs cold at the thought, and I force myself to think again on the two words sent to me.

I know I have heard those words before. I can almost place them, as they rove around my mind. It's a street, evident in its name. The location of the street, though, is beyond me. We Malfoys may be worldly and travelled, but we rarely venture into other areas of England, choosing instead to go to places like Majorca, France, Greece. Even if I were to get onto the other side of these walls, how would I find the place? I throw a pillow against the wall, annoyed. It is ridiculous and tiring, pacing my room like a caged animal. There are no reprieves from the hell that my childhood home has become. If I leave my room, I am subjected to the buffoons my parents call colleagues; if I stay in my room, I drive myself mad with the solitude. There is no way out.

Until I remember the words I told Potter.

* * *

I have to wait for nightfall. It is the easiest time to lose track of things. The fogs roll in, fatigue settles among even the staunchest of guards, and the house falls silent. In this silence, I am careful to creep through the hall, down a servant's staircase and through a window in the kitchen.]

"Master Malfoy," Mimi, a house-elf squeaks from the darkness. I jump and turn around. Of all of our elves, Mimi is my favorite. I have never agreed with my father's treatment of our elves-though I am not about to jump on Granger's SPEW train. I motion for her to lower her voice. "Where is you going?" ]

"Mimi," I whisper, "I have a very important and very secret task that I need to do. You mustn't tell anyone that I have left the house, okay? If you are asked, you are to lie and tell them you have not seen me. You are forbidden to tell anyone I am gone. When...when I come back, I shall reward you, okay?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," she says sadly. "I is to tell no one. I is a good elf, I keep your secrets." I pat Mimi on the head.

"Thank you, Mimi," I say. "Now, off to bed!" I listen as she scampers back into her corner, and then clamber through an open window, into the rose bushes. If I time it correctly, I can cross as the clouds cover the moon and cut off its light. Anxiously, I gnaw on my lip, waiting and urging the clouds to move quickly. I am well aware of how it would look if I were to be found right now, crouched in the bushes with a bag over my shoulder. Finally, though, the clouds do as they threatened, and I streak across the yard, to the old and unwatched gate that let the trio out the other day. As soon as I am through the gate, I am sucked upward and into the night, before I have a chance to take a single breath.

* * *

I land hard with both feet and stumble forward. I am able to see only that I am in the entryway of an old and dingy house before a cloud raises from further inward and rushes at me. With horror, I realize that it is the essence of Dumbledore, and I let out a horrified shout. Before it can make contact with me, it dissolves, and I'm alone again in the hall. My breathing is heavy as I try to get my bearings. Fucking Potter, it figures that he would bring me to this hellhole, alone except for the ghosts of my personal mistakes. I grind my teeth and shoulder my bag, taking stock of the area around me. There are plaques on the wall lining the staircase, though I cannot make out what they are. All around, portraits hang on the wall. I give them no thought, until I realize that they are moving. This is a wizard's home.

And then, I'm flush against the door, unable to move. Only my eyes move, and they dart around, trying to make sense of the gloom around me.

"Speak your name," a voice commands. Potter's voice.

"Malfoy," I croak, "Draco Malfoy. You sent me a note with this address, and then it caught fire and disappeared." Instantly the spell is dropped and I can move again. I let out a large gust of breath and move forward, into the light. Potter stands at the top of the stairs, wand still pointed at me as he descends.

"I'm surprised you're here," he says.

"Me too," I admit. "Wherever _here_ is."

"You don't recognize your own family's stomping grounds?" he asks, surprise in his voice. That's it! The Black's house. If any of the portraits recognize me, I'm screwed.

"Oh," I say. "Not this hellscape version of it," I add quickly, sneer in place. Potter rolls his eyes as he steps off of the last stair.

"Well, that's what happens when your family abandons a home to pursue the torture of innocent-0

""Don't act like you know a thing about my family, Potter," I snap. "Is there a reason you sent for me, or did you just need a new target to annoy for a while? Take out some of your energy, since you and your pals can't wreak havoc at Hogwarts?"

We glare at each other for a moment, our faces eerily lit by the tip of Potter's wand. And then, he drops the wand and jerks his head toward the back of the hallway.

"Come on," he says. "We should talk." He turns and walks off, down the hall, and I follow begrudgingly. We enter into the kitchen, and I see that it is in the same state as the rest of the house-gloomy, worn-down, and covered by an attempt to make it more homey. Kreacher freezes in the corner as he sees me.

"Master Malfoy," he wheezes. "Such a surprise to see you-"

"Kreacher," I say warningly, "You are to tell no one I am here, are we understood?"

"You cannot tell anyone, portrait or living, that Malfoy is here," Potter reinforces. Kreacher glares at him for a moment, and then bows.

"As the master wishes, but oh, how Kreacher wishes the Potter brat was not his master. No, Kreacher wishes to work for the noble Black blood, oh yes," he mutters. My brow furrows as I listen to the elf.

" _You're_ his master, Potter?" I drawl. "Oh, Granger must love that."

"Long story," Potter says, "but yeah, this...this is my house now."

"You've got to be kidding me," I say tonelessly, "Harry Potter, desirable number one, is living in the home of the Black family-no, _owns_ the home of the Black family? Merlin."

He drops into a seat at the long table, stretching his legs onto the seat across from him.

"We have some questions for you, Malfoy," Potter says. His voice is calm, curious. "You don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. But if you go back to your Death Eater father and all of his cronies, and rat us out-"

"We'll kill you," Weasley finishes from behind me. I wheel around and see the ginger nuisance standing in the doorway, holding his wand. Like Potter, there is no malice in his voice, but the threat is clear regardless. He moves to sit beside Potter, and they both stare at me, waiting.

"Where's Granger?" I ask. "You three are never far apart."

"She's recovering," Weasley snaps. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten what happened. Take a seat, Malfoy. We want some answers."


End file.
